Finding Sam
by Vampire Reader
Summary: For those who already read my Sam stories - THE BEAT, POSSIBLY SAM and NEW DAY, this is how Francis first found Sam on a gloomy October night in Greenwich village. Francis is 4000 years old. Sam is about to learn that vampires are real.
1. Chapter 1

Finding Sam – Chapter 1

Penina Spinka

The night was dark. A cold drizzle moistened hats, coats, and cheeks, but the lights and the music were cheery enough to drive away the gloom. The vampire had been looking for Sammik for more than 20 years. He didn't know Sammik's name or if he would be a man or a woman this time. He only knew Sammik loved music and based on his previous lives, he was likely to have the kind of looks that drew positive attention. He wondered how old the object of his search would be. He'd found Sammik in different incarnations for 4000 years -- from a little girl of four to a man in his forties. Sammik could be anyone, but whoever he or she was now, Francis Radu would find him tonight. He felt his younger twin brother's soul calling him.

He had come across seas and oceans. Now, he traced the call psychically to a jazz club in Greenwich Village, a neighborhood in lower Manhattan, and finally to a club called the Village Vanguard. It was for this that Francis had taken the position of special envoy and attaché to the U.N. from Romania. It was his first visit to New York City. Francis Radu looked over the marquee. The neon lights spelled out few names he had heard of back in Bucharest. The word Vanguard stood alone in bright orange-yellow neon at the top.

The names wouldn't tell him much, but he knew Sammik must be here. He would know him the moment the two of them were in the same room. Francis made his way to the ticket window and asked for a seat near the front.

"Are you a visitor to our city?" asked the young woman, alerted by his accent.

"Yes; I am." She waited, but as there were other people behind him, and he declined to be more specific, she pointed behind her to the schedule of performers. The price for a Thursday night was twenty-five dollars.

"All of them," Francis said. "United Nations." He showed her his embassy pass. They would pay for any parking tickets or transportation fees, but entertainment was not included. Still – his pass greased palms in its own way. He handed over his credit card.

"The box office accepts only cash only, Sir. Credit cards are only accepted on line."

He handed her a hundred dollar bill. "If you can give me a seat near the front, you can keep the change."

"Certainly, Sir. Enjoy your visit to the Big Apple." She handed him a VIP ticket. Francis thanked her, then walked though the wooden doors and down the stairs.

The host looked at his ticket and at Francis. "May I check your coat for you, Sir?"

Francis nodded. It was still early. Once he reached his seat, he handed the host his coat and ordered a brandy. The price covered drinks and he didn't know how long he'd be sitting here, or when his long dead brother, whom he did not know in this incarnation, would come out on stage.

Man or woman? Francis thought to himself. Young or old? Not in a relationship, please. He looked heavenward. Where did the Fates live?

There was a piano player. No. A small band came on next. Francis looked at the schedule. Only the guitar player's name was mentioned. It was a trio. He sipped his brandy while he looked over the players – guitar, base and drum, all men. The guitar player was flamboyant, shaking his hair and smiling to the audience. The base player hugged his instrument, relaxing into the rhythm. It was a good piece.

The drummer had a sure hand on his sticks and an impeccable sense of rhythm, but he could hardly be seen behind the others. Francis felt, no knew, the young man was capable of so much more. Francis moved his chair slightly to better see the drummer, and then sat back. Copper colored skin, long black hair, high cheeks bone, with dark brown eyes - he was an Indian! He supposed he should be politically correct and call him a Native American. Are you my brother? he thought. The young man turned his head and let his gaze touch Francis.

Come to me after the set, Francis thought. If he could have said the words aloud, this wasn't the time to say them. He would frighten the young musician.

As if the young man could hear thoughts, he winked at Francis and nodded. Francis didn't know what to make of it. In the next piece, he did another intricate section of the song between the vocalist's parts. He was good, but Francis expected him to be. The guitarist was the main performer in the trio. The drummer was young. Francis guessed him to be about 23. He also guessed he was new to the Village Vanguard and glad just to be performing on the same stage where the greats of the jazz world had played.

Francis felt all this from the young drummer. At the end of the set, the announcer gave their names. Each bowed to his name. They bowed together before they walked off the stage, going in separate ways until they must come together again for their next set. Sam. Sam Birchtree, Francis thought. He headed toward Francis's table on the side of the stage. Had Sam actually read his mind? Francis never said anything aloud to him. He wasn't ready for Sam to know everything about him yet. That could be dangerous to both of them.

For the first time in a long while, actually not since the last time he met his former brother in a different incarnation, had the vampire felt this nervous. How would he tell Sam what he was and who he was? Did he dare to tell him anything this soon? The young man walked over to him. "You wanted me?"

Francis switched his thinking to Romanian. _You have no idea_. "Yes," he said in English, stressing his accent. "Please join me. Let me buy you a drink."

"I'm Sam Birchtree," the young man said, sitting down.

"I know. The announcer said your name. I've been looking for you." He put his hand over Sam's and felt the familiar connection he had not felt in decades. "I'm Francis Radu. I'm from Bucharest, in Romania."

"Mohawk," Sam responded. "Do I know you?"

"In a way," Francis said. "I hope you let me stay with you for a while tonight while we discuss it."


	2. Chapter 2

Finding Sam – Chapter 2

Penina Spinka

"Washington Square?" Sam asked as the huge stone arch came into sight. "I know you haven't been in New York before, and this is a landmark. Maybe parks in Bucharest are safe in the middle of the night, but it's dangerous to walk into a park here at night. Drugs aren't all of it. People are homeless. They'll slit your throat for a few bucks. Why do you want to go there?"

"We need a place where we can talk privately. I won't let anyone hurt you." He continued to walk them across the street.

The vampire's hand was on Sam's arm. Sam gave a tentative tug and found that he couldn't loosen Francis's grip. "How do I know you won't hurt me?"

"I do diplomatic work for my country at the United Nations. Why would I hurt a drummer from a band at the Village Vanguard? There would be no benefit. Even a U.N. pass doesn't allow me to molest United States citizens."

"What about Canadians?" Sam asked. They walked under the arch and down the path to the middle of the small park. Skeletal trees increased the darkness.

"Even Canadians. Besides, I would never harm you. I admire your skill on the drums. Do you know what a patron is?" He faced Sam while he waited for his reply. In the faint drizzle, by the light of the overhead street lamp several benches down, Francis's face looked gray. He had thrown his coat over his shoulders, reminding Sam of something, he wasn't sure what.

"A patron? Like the Italian artists in the renaissance? It's an old-fashioned word for someone who supports you while you paint or whatever. It's someone who gets a piece of the action if you succeed. It's like an agent, only better."

Francis smiled. Sam was some inches taller than Francis, broader in the shoulder and muscular. Sam should have been able to take care of himself. He had been trained in Mohawk fighting techniques when he was a boy. His gang on the reservation laughed at the thought that they would ever need such training. The world was a different place than it was years back. On the reservation, Mohawk traditions were handed down generation to generation, like music and dance, respect for one's elders and respect for what was left of nature. What was a boy to do when his clan told him to listen to his assigned leader and learn what he had to teach? Sam lived in the outside world now, New York City, where his music could take him the farthest. This talk of patronage – Francis was very old school. Perhaps it was how things were done in his country, but it made Sam feel strange.

The vampire led them to a bench. He had not let go of Sam's arm. For two close friends, this might have been appropriate, but Sam felt peculiar at the familiar touch. Francis wore leather gloves, but even through them, his hand felt cold. "You have the right idea, Sam. I did not want your band mates to overhear what I had to say to you. Your guitar player is your leader. He hired you. Am I right?" Sam nodded; pretty sure Francis could see him well enough. "I'm interested in your career. I'd like to see you with a band of your own, where you're free to express yourself and play what you want. I don't want you to have to worry about money. You should be able to set your own agenda, pick your songs, and follow your own muse. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah, you're telling me you're my fairy godfather." Francis looked at him without speaking. "Unless you know magic, it's not that easy. I'm still new to living in the City. I share an apartment with three buddies. It's a dump, but they can't raise the rent until the paying tenant moves out. All of us are trying to make a name for ourselves, to become known, to get to be headliners. I can't walk away from the first leader who gave me a break, at least not yet. We have a six-month contract. I've only been with him three months. I'd have to make some new connections. I don't want to make enemies, and I want to stay at the Vanguard. It's the top venue in the jazz world." He was letting his guard down. Francis hand touched Sam's wrist. It almost felt like he was taking his pulse. Sam stared at Francis, apprehension tightening his voice. "Why are you so interested in me? You don't know me. What's the catch? What do you really want from me?"

"First, you have to stop being afraid of me so I can tell you. Do you believe in Fate, Sam?" Francis asked.

Once more, Sam tried to probe Francis's thoughts. Mind listeners at home on the reservation knew how to block his skill. He'd been trained to be a shaman, but he rejected that role, disappointing his grandmother and all the elders in Bear Clan when he told them he needed to follow his own path, even when it led him to a Greenwich Village jazz club. The Vanguard was THE jazz club, the most famous in the country, and he'd nearly made it! To lead his own band, to have no one else dictate his agenda so he could play the music in his soul – that was tempting.

Although he tried, Sam could not get Francis's thoughts. He wasn't blocked, exactly, but he found himself in a world he didn't understand. The older man was thinking in a different language. He'd said he was Romanian. "I don't know," Sam replied. "Why do you want to know if I believe in Fate?"

"Because Fate gave me a mission, Sam. I was to find you and help you accomplish your goals. That's why I asked to be assigned to New York."

Sam shook his head. "You can't have heard of me in Romania. Come on! I'm not world famous. Did you even hear my name or listen to any of my music before tonight?"

Francis left off pressing lightly against Sam's pulse point. Instead, he rubbed his thumb in circles on the palm of Sam's hand. It sensation felt mildly pleasant. It seemed too familiar for a stranger to be touching him like this, but Sam let him. He wondered if he ought to be more afraid.

"No. Honestly, I never heard of you," Francis admitted. "I didn't know what you looked like. I didn't know what your name would be, but I knew I had to find you. As soon as I heard you play, I felt our connection. When I touched you, I confirmed it and so did you. You are the one I was searching for."

"But why?" His words sent chills down Sam's spine. The drizzle continued. He threw back his head and laughed. "I know what you are. You're a demon, aren't you?" Sam felt like he was whistling in a theater, challenging Fate. He tried to keep the appearance of sanity, smiling as he made his accusation. "The Creator wanted to know if I was strong enough to leave temptation behind and come back to the reservation, so he sent you to tempt me. I'm right; aren't I?" He had to sound crazy to this foreigner. Eastern Europeans probably thought everyone on the western side of the Atlantic was crazy, and Sam had just proved it.

"I'm not a demon," Francis said simply. He looked around. No one was within hearing. "Just a vampire."

"Are you trying to scare me or become my patron?" Sam tried to pull away, but Francis's grip was like iron. "Are you planning to drink my blood next?"

"If you'll let me."

Sam tried to swallow against his fear. "I have to get back for my next set. The band will send someone looking for me if I don't show up. They'll call the police." Francis was rubbing his thumb against Sam's palm again, soothing him. "What do you mean, if I let you. If I believed you, if you were real, you're ten times stronger than a human. How could I stop you?"

Francis smiled to him. Sam wasn't sure it was not just his imagination, but he thought he saw fangs. "It's just young vampires who are ten times stronger than a human. I'm much stronger than that. We get stronger the older we are. But if you don't want me to drink your blood, just say so. I wouldn't force myself on you. I told you, I was sent to help you, to protect you. I'd like to be your patron and help you in any way I can, but that's up to you."

"You'd just let me go and not chase me or anything?"

"No. I'm not going to chase you."

Sam didn't really believe what Francis had said. He hardly believed he was in Washington Square Park at all. Either he was at home dreaming, or the weed he'd smoked before his set must have been really spiked with something. Probably both. It was expensive, but worth it if you didn't mind hallucinations. He wondered if he should give saying 'no thanks' a try. "This is a joke, right? I don't think everyone from Romania is a vampire. They probably don't hire vampires in the diplomatic corps." He waited a moment to see if Francis would speak again, but he didn't. "Let me go then." Francis let go of his hand. Sam stood up immediately and backed up a few steps, his eyes still on Francis.

"Would you like me to walk you back? No one will attack you while I'm around. I would make sure you got back to the Vanguard safely."

"No blood-sucking?"

"Not if you'd prefer I wouldn't. My offer still stands though. Here, take my card." He pulled a cardholder from his coat pocket, flipped it open and slid out a card with his name, number and email address. "That's my office phone at the embassy. The symbols are Romania's flag and the U.N. emblem. "I'll be by the club to listen to you again. Call or just let me know if you want to accept my offer. I'll be in the U.S. another week. I'd like to set you up in your own place and see what I can do for you before I go."

Sam spun around, arms out, head up, looking at the cloudy sky. He was free. He could run back to the Club and forget he met this strange man, pretend tonight never happened. Francis said he wouldn't chase him. Drizzle coated his eyelashes and the collar of his coat. "I've lost my mind," he mumbled, and came back to the bench to sit down beside Francis again. "Why do I feel safe with you if you're a vampire?"

"Because you are safe. I'd never harm you or let anyone else harm you. You couldn't be safer. To get back to our previous discussion, people tell me a vampire bite is better than drugs. No hangover, and it's less addicting."

"This is crazy. You know this is crazy, right?" Francis didn't reply. Sam closed his eyes. "Okay, but if I die, I'm coming back for you."

"Of course. You always come back for me, but that's many years in the future. When you do, we'll have to find each other again like we did tonight. We've been the best of friends for a long time, you and I. That's why you felt like you knew me. Take off your coat. Your collar is in the way. You won't be cold soon. I promise." Sam did what Francis said, handing Francis his coat. "Sit closer. Let me wrap both coats around you. I don't have any body warmth to share, and it's a cool night."

"No sex. I'm not gay and even if I was, I'm not doing anything on a park bench." Sam cautioned him. He wanted to laugh at how ridiculous that must sound, but he couldn't.

"I won't do anything but take a little of your blood. Don't worry. Relax." Francis put one arm around Sam and rested the younger man's head against his shoulder. He leaned over him and touched his neck with the tips of his fingers. Sam felt Francis lick the skin over his vein and tensed, waiting for pain. When it came, it hurt less than his last flu shot. He wondered if worse pain would come later or if he'd still be alive to feel it. He had to remember to change weed dealers.

Francis was right. This was better than anything he'd smoked, better than anything else his band buddies had talked him into using. Was this what meth felt like? He'd never tried that. His body responded nearly as if he was in the beginning of orgasm, his groin tightening, his breath coming faster, his back arching. Francis never touched any part of him but his shoulders and head while his lips worked against Sam's neck.

After a minute or so, Francis pulled back. He learned in to lick away the remaining blood and clean the wound. "No infections," he told Sam. "A vampire's bite is sterile." He licked his lips and pulled out a handkerchief to blot the corners of his mouth. "So? What do you think?"

Sam touched his own neck tentatively. His fingers were a bit damp when he took them away. He licked them off, and then chuckled. "That must seem funny to you," he admitted. "I just wondered what it tasted like." He pulled his long hair in front to cover the twin wounds, hiding them. "You were right about how it felt," he said, still slightly amazed. "I'm warmer now too. Is heroin or meth like that?"

"I don't know anything about Meth. Heroin is a recent invention. Opium is much older, but I died too early to try that either. Also, blood tastes different to a vampire than to a human. For the record, 'vampire' is a comparatively recent word. I don't care for it, but it was more convenient for our conversation. I'll tell you more about that another time. For now, we have to get you back in time. We'll talk more about your career and find you a better place to live tomorrow."

"I can't believe you're real and what we just did."

Francis smiled in a friendly way. "Believe it. I enjoyed it too, and no. It wasn't sex although I hear it feels something like it to humans."

"Are there others like you?"

"Probably. I don't go out of my way to find them. You don't want to miss your next set. The schedule says you're on again at 11:30. Let me hear what else you can do with those drums." They walked arm in arm out of the park and down the street back to 7th Avenue.


	3. Chapter 3

Finding Sam – Part 3

Penina Spinka

"Sam. Wake up!"

Sam rubbed his eyes in the semi-dark room. The drapes were drawn against the daylight. "What time is it?" he asked, yawning.

"A little after twelve. There's some guy on the phone. He says his name is Francis Radu. You want to talk to him?"

Sam barely remembered writing his phone number down for Francis last night. He barely remembered last night. "Yeah. Yeah. Tell him I'll be there in a minute." Sam forced his eyes open, staggered into the bathroom and closed the door. Looking into the mirror, he pushed his long hair aside and inspected his neck below his left ear. "Oh my god!" he whispered. He stared for a moment, but then pushed his hair back over the two small marks. He made his way to the phone in the kitchen and picked up the phone. "This is Sam," he said.

"Good afternoon," came Francis's voice.

"Hold on a second." Sam looked around. Jason was still asleep on the other bed in their room. Jeremy was at the table eating a sandwich. Sam didn't see Randy. He opened Randy and Jeremy's door and found the second bedroom empty, then brought the phone in there for privacy and closed the door. "I thought I dreamed you," he whispered.

Francis laughed softly. It was a friendly sort of sound. "People often do. Can I come over within the hour to take you to lunch?"

"Breakfast," Sam muttered. "I haven't had anything to eat yet. I live on musician's hours. Hey. What are you doing up at high noon?" He didn't say he thought Francis should be sleeping in his coffin about now, but he was thinking it.

"I'm calling you. Lunch or breakfast, whatever you want. What is your address?"

Sam gave it to him, hoping he was making the right decision. "I'll see you here soon then," Sam said, and closed the connection. He needed a cell phone. Jeremy would soon be asking him who Francis Radu was. "I'm taking a shower and then I'm going out for breakfast," he told Jeremy, walking past him to pick out clothing for the day.

"Who's Francis Radu?" asked Jeremy.

"A diplomat from Romania," Sam replied with a sigh. "He works at the U.N."

"What does he want with you?" Jeremy persisted.

Sam didn't like to lie, but he had to say something. "I met him at the Club last night. He has a job for me, a private gig. He needs a drummer. I have to get ready to meet him." He slipped into the bathroom again to the sound of Jeremy's voice.

"Sammy's got himself an admirer who needs a drummer for a private gig," Jeremy jeered though the door. "Just make sure he's clean."

Damn, thought Sam. I do have to get my own place.

He showered and washed his hair, then rubbed one hand over his chin and cheeks. He didn't need to shave yet, one of the perks of being Native American. In the shower, he patted the washcloth gently against his neck. The marks were a bit tender, and beginning to itch. It seemed they were already healing. Except for how Francis had made him feel last night, and how strong he was, he seemed perfectly human. How odd to even be thinking like this.

What else didn't Sam know about real vampires as opposed to the fictional kind? He had to remember Francis didn't like the word and to not use it if he didn't have to. He was awake in the middle of the day. Sam looked out the window as he toweled off and dried his hair. The middle of a sunny day – that should make it worse. He wondered if he'd be allowed to ask questions.

It came to him that he'd been thinking about Francis as if he were a clan elder. He might be an elder, but he was definitely not clan. Sam didn't owe him anything, at least not yet. If he took all Francis offered, then he would owe him big time. Did he want that? He had to ask questions to make an informed decision. It was perfectly fine to ask questions. Last night, Francis had released him the moment he asked him to. He said he would never force himself on Sam. Patronage was a business arrangement, wasn't it?

If Francis wouldn't answer his questions, Sam would just tell him to get out of his life. Take the next plane back to Bucharest, he would say. Go back to Transylvania while you're at it; it's in the same neighborhood. But Francis said they had been best friends in a prior life, which is why he had searched him out. Sam wasn't sure he believed people had past lives. Then again, not believing something didn't make it false - just like believing in something didn't make it true.

He selected a pale blue pullover with a high neck that covered the marks better than his damp hair. What if Francis wanted a taste of him again? He didn't want to go there, and hopefully Francis wouldn't either. If he remembered right, the blood bank said every 56 days, but they took a pint. He wondered how much Francis had taken. Sam and his buddies got free blood tests at the clinic for donating. It was a good deal, but he wondered if he'd be doing that again any time soon. To have his own place, not to have to share a bathroom with three other guys, to have his career turn out just the way he'd envisioned it when he came down to New York – Sam closed his eyes. The least he could do was listen to Francis. Listen and ask questions.

When he came out of the bathroom, Jeremy was still in the kitchen, waiting for him. "There's no such thing as a free lunch," he said.

"You couldn't wait to say that to me, could you?" Sam asked. "I left my mother back home on the reservation. I don't need another one."

"I'll check him out for you," Jeremy said. "It's the least a friend can do for a friend." Sam had barely sat down when the bell rang. Jeremy gave him a smirk and went to answer the door.

Francis stood right outside, seeing Jeremy, but not seeing Sam. "Come in," Jeremy said. Francis walked across the threshold.

Sam put his hand to his eyes. He had hoped to test out that myth about vampires, the one where they couldn't enter a residence uninvited, but Jeremy had just stymied his chance. He planned to ask him if he'd like to come in, without actually inviting him, to see what would happen.

"I'm Jeremy," Jeremy said. "Sam's told me all about you."

"Has he?" Francis looked at Sam who slowly but definitely shook his head.

"Yes. He said you worked at the U.N., and you needed him for a private gig. Your native language isn't English. You do know what a gig is, don't you?"

"It's entertainer-speak for a paid engagement. I studied American slang before I came. Have I passed your test?"

Francis had spoken softly, but Jeremy looked properly intimidated. "Yes. I guess you have," Jeremy said.

"Are you ready, Sam?" Francis asked. Jeremy stood aside as Francis and Sam walked out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Finding Sam – Part 4

Penina Spinka

"I think I know why I liked you in those other lives I shared with you," Sam said as they descended in the elevator to the lobby. The apartment had a tiny, creaky elevator and a tiny lobby. "I hope you don't mind if I ask you questions. After all, you said some things that were pretty outrageous yesterday."

"I'm sure they sounded that way, but all of it is true. I hope you won't mind but I may not answer all of your questions. I will never lie to you, Sam, but I can't tell you everything, not yet at least."

Sam thought about it and nodded. "That's fair." They emerged from the lobby into the sunny street. He kept his voice to a whisper, thinking Francis would be able to hear him well enough. "How can you be all right in the sun?"

"Young blood drinkers can't bear the sun well – it hurts. At my age, it's not a problem. My car is over this way." He pointed to a gray BMW halfway down the block.

"How old are you, really?" Sam asked as they walked. He hoped he wasn't being rude. Francis might not be a clan elder, but he was surely an elder.

"I won't be evasive and ask how old I look to you. I appear to be in my middle 30s, but you already know I'm much older than that. I don't want to say any more about that for now. You learned too much since last night. Much more would destroy your equilibrium."

That was a Native American thing to say. Sam looked at him, squinting his eyes. He pierced Francis' mind, and found himself hearing an eastern European language.

"Stop trying to do that. I won't think in English until we've known each other longer." He clicked open the doors to his car. Sam got in and buckled his shoulder strap.

"How did you know what I was doing? Do you hear thoughts yourself?"

"No, but I'm very perceptive. Remember that I know your soul even if I don't know you, at least not well. I suspected you were receiving my thoughts last night during your performance. When you came to me after you took your bow, I knew. Mind hearing is very shamanistic. You've been a shaman before, in Africa and India. Are you one now as well?"

"Well, I was trained as a shaman, but I don't practice the art much." Sam said. "I hear thoughts and feel souls. I felt yours last night in the park. It made me feel safe and a little sad at the thought of leaving you. That's why I came back to the bench."

Francis reached over to touch Sam's hand. His movement was both subtle and gentle. "I'm very glad you trusted me."

"That, plus the fact that I thought I was high on drugs or dreaming."

"I'll accept that, as long as you came back. Where would you like to go for breakfast or lunch?" Francis asked.

"I'll show you. Drive down two blocks and make a right. We won't be able to talk about this in the restaurant," he said. "I want like to ask more questions about blood drinkers while we're in the car."

Francis started the car and pulled out. "Go ahead and ask."

"Can you enter a dwelling without being invited in?"

"Of course. There are so many superstitions. It's a pity how many human corpses were mutilated in the cause of stamping us out. Before you ask, we don't necessarily sleep in coffins, just cool, dark places."

Sam nodded. "Do you have a reflection?"

Francis waved his hand over the rear-view mirror. "I'm solid, aren't I? Light waves bounce off solid objects. Can't you see my fingers in the glass?"

"I do. That one didn't make much sense to me, but I had to ask. I know you don't like that word, but I want to understand who and what you really are. You said I always come back for you over and over. Tell me who and what I was in one of my recent lives."

Francis didn't hesitate. "This was a sad one. You were a Buddhist priest in Beijing during the Chinese Cultural revolution. The Red Guard killed you in 1965. They were all dead within the week of your death, those who had anything to do with your execution. I wasn't able to save you that time, but I don't take well to losing you or to anyone who harms you."

Sam took a deep breath. "Oh," was all he could say for several moments. They were stopped at a light. "Take a left at the next street when the light turns. It's halfway down on the right. Look for the red sign with the Chinese letters."

The restaurant came into view. "The Peking Gourmet?" Francis smiled.

"Now, I know why I like Chinese food."

"You had no trouble believing in reincarnation when you were Buddhist," Francis said. "Do you believe me now when I say I've been your friend before?"

"I suppose I must. You know more about me than I do. I think some tea and tilapia in black bean sauce over rice would help me think this over." Sam had another question. "Do you eat?"

"No." They got out of the car and entered the small restaurant.

While they waited for Sam's order, Francis told him about several apartment buildings they could check out. "They're condos. Instead of staying at a hotel or the embassy, I'll stay with you when I'm in New York. It would be a business related expense. The United Nations and the government of Romania will reimburse me for part of it."

"So, I'd be your caretaker?" Sam wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.

"No. You'd be co-owner. I'm going to open a joint bank account for you to furnish it and get yourself a car. Both our names will be on the deed for the condo. I said I don't want you to have to worry about money while you think about your music. Be reasonable though. I know you will. You know how to live on very little. Buy what you need to be comfortable, but don't overdo it. When you're doing well enough, you can send me a percentage of your earnings. You decide how much."

Sam's fish arrived, but his mouth felt almost too dry to swallow. He took a sip of his tea. He had to ask the question. "What do you want for what you're giving me? Don't leave anything out."

"I want you to be happy.

"What about…you know?"

"Only if and when you wish. You know what it's like now. I'll be here only a few days twice a year. I can find nourishment elsewhere, but the satisfaction of your soul is more filling for me than anything. Finding you again is the high point of my existence. Let me be your friend and do things for you. It's all I want and what I live for."

Sam felt like he wanted to cry. How could he eat lunch after hearing that? "I just met you last night, but it sounds like you love me, or you have in the past," he said below his breath. "How do you know I'm worth it?"

Francis lowered his eyes. "I haven't tried to hide it." He turned away. "I know your soul. Eat your fish."

"I wish you could tell me how we first became friends."

Francis looked off into the distance. "Not yet. Don't ask me and don't look into my mind for answers. I'll tell you why you're so important to me when you're ready. Just believe me that you are."

They found the perfect apartment on the third try. It was the eleventh floor of an apartment building, turned condominium, on the outskirts of the Village. There was one bedroom large enough for a king sized bed and a couch, two baths, a large living room, and a kitchen with enough counter space to host a party without difficulty. "You'll want friends over to practice. Even if you won't leave your current leader yet, you're going to lead your own band when your contract ends. Be working towards it. This will give you room. Let's sign the contract and go looking for a piano. It would go over by that wall."

Sam hardly knew what to say. He thought more of the questions he wanted to ask. "You can hear far better than a human, can't you?" Francis looked at him and nodded. "Do you play the piano?"

"I can. I'm not a musician by inclination. As you can imagine, I move from one place and profession to another or people will realize that I don't age. In some of your lives, I've played instruments just to be near you and to become your friend. Most of the time, I'm a diplomat in one version or another, or a teacher, or a doctor."

"And me. What have I been? What kind of person am I? What makes me happy?"

"An artist or musician, an actor, a ruler, a shaman and a monk. More than any of those, you take joy in the love of your family. You've let me be a part of your life before, and be an uncle to your children."

They were alone in the large room of the condo. The agent had left them alone to make their decision. They were to come to her in her office when they made up their mind. Sam sank to his knees to spread out his shaman senses. Was this a happy place that would lend itself to creativity and the kind of love he was searching for? He wanted the love of friends, the love of family, and also the love of a special friend. Francis, powerful as he was, had a vulnerability that drew him in. He was that friend. Sam had no doubt about it now.

"Kneel with me, Francis," he said. The two knelt together on the new carpet, arms resting on each other's backs, cheeks together. Sam moved away from Francis. To his own surprise and Francis's amazement, he removed his coat and then his shirt. "Do what you did to me last night." Francis smiled. "You didn't take much last night. Show me what it's really like."

"If you're sure." He came close to Sam again and touched his wrist.

"You did that last night. Why?"

"I can hear your pulse and your heart beat. This is a way for me to know if you're healthy, resilient enough, so I'm sure not to harm you." He backed to the wall for support, then pulled Sam close and tilted his head.

The ecstasy Francis's gave him was worth the lethargy that followed. He didn't have to work tonight and Francis was driving. When Francis released him, Sam sunk to the carpet on his side, knees drawn up. "I want to remember feeling exactly like this every time I play my drums or write a song," Sam said lazily. If he could purr, he would have. He opened his eyes enough to glance at Francis. A satisfied smile hovered around his lips.

"I told you this was less addictive than drugs. You're doing your best to prove me wrong."

"I'm ready to sign my name on the dotted line," Sam said, "in blood if need be."

Francis sat up. "Save that for me," he said.


	5. Chapter 5

Finding Sam – Chapter 5

Penina Spinka

Francis helped Sam to his feet, glad to see no drops of blood spotted the new gray rug. Sam stumbled a little, swaying. Francis frowned. "Your surge of feeling must have ebbed somewhat by now," he said. "Can you tell if you feel light-headed? I'm afraid you were so tempting, I might have taken a little more than I should have."

Sam held out a hand to balance himself on the edge of the kitchen counter. "I'll be fine," he insisted.

"But you're not fine right now." Sam lowered his head, but immediately looked up again. The movement had made him dizzy.

"Do you trust me?" Francis asked.

"I think what we just did shows I trust you," Sam admitted. "It's not every day I have an intense interaction with a … a blood drinker. Why do you want to know if I trust you?"

"Because I want to return a little of what you just gave me. It will make you feel better and it won't turn you into what I am." Sam stared at Francis. "Yes. I'm sure."

"How did you know what I was just thinking? You said you don't hear thoughts."

"I usually don't. I forgot to mention that sometimes, when I drink from someone, I hear my donor's thoughts. It won't last long. If you were home, I'd give you a glass of apple juice and tuck you into bed. If you still want to, we planned to visit the agent and the bank, and to a piano store. Will you take a little of your blood back? It's mine now, so it will strengthen you. You'd have to be a lot closer to death for it to make any permanent change." He waited while Sam thought about it.

"What would happen if I was? Would I start growing fangs?" He giggled. "Sorry." That must have been crude and rude. He certainly was light-headed. "Well, I guess if I trusted you this far, I'm not going to stop now. Sure. How are we going to do this?"

"Come to me." Sam walked until they stood a foot apart. "I'll bite my arm and you'll drink. My wound will heal in a moment, but you'll get enough to revive you. Are you ready?" Sam nodded. Francis lifted his arm to his mouth, bit down, and extended his arm to Sam, his blood pooling in a deep crimson pool above the wound. "Drink."

Sam held onto Francis to steady himself before he put his mouth to the wound. He marveled at the taste of it. The blood was strong, like whiskey is to wine, not the same as what he had tasted from his own wound the previous night. As his mouth filled, he swallowed; thinking that the blood Francis was giving him had been his ten minutes earlier. Now, there was something paranormal about it. He shifted his eyes. Francis had closed his eyes and his face wore an expression of pure delight. If he was feeling a tenth the pleasure he'd given to Sam, it was plenty. When there was no more blood, Sam pulled back, swallowing the last of it. "Did I take enough?"

Francis took a deep breath and exhaled, returning from wherever he had been when Sam's mouth was on his wound. "How do you feel now?" he asked.

Sam spun around in a Mohawk dance step, arms out. "I'm not dizzy any more. I feel like I could jump to the roof of this building, like I could fly. Don't worry; I'm not going to try it." He looked though the window at the blue sky, sparkling with sunlight, washed clean by yesterday's rain. "The sky is bluer. I hear birds chirping in the trees eleven stories down. I can hear my own heart beat, but I can't hear yours. Why?"

"You know why," Francis reminded him. "You had enough. I'm exerting no mystic power or pressure on you. Living with me has to be a decision you come to yourself. I know what you said before, that you were ready, but we had just been connected by the pleasure my nature gives to a willing partner. Be objective now. We will own this house together. I'll stay with you when I visit New York, but I won't own you as some blood drinkers own some humans. You will make all your own decisions, whether for your career or business or love. All I ask is that you allow me to be your friend. Are you still ready to sign the contract on this apartment?"

"What I said before holds. Let's go down to the agent's office." Sam pulled on his shirt and put his arms through the sleeves of his winter coat. He loosened his hair so it covered his neck before they walked out of the condo to the elevator.

They were soon in the car again, on their way to the SoHo District and its Bank of Romania. The BMW had stopped at a red light, when Francis turned to Sam. "What was that talk about a gig when I first came to your apartment? What did your roommate mean about me needing a drummer?"

"I didn't think fast enough. Jeremy asked me what you wanted with me – an important foreign diplomat with a lowly drummer. I said the first thing that popped into my head. I'm glad you knew what a 'gig' is."

Francis stepped on the clutch and shifted into first gear when the light changed, then stepped on the gas. He gave Sam a quick smile before he turned his eyes to the traffic. "You're not a lowly drummer. You're probably the best in New York at the present time, and that's not all you are. If anyone asks you again what I want with you, you can tell them we're friends. If they don't know why friends want to spend time together, I feel sorry for them."


	6. Chapter 6

Finding Sam

Penina Keen Spinka

Chapter 6

"You gave me an idea," Francis said as they walked into the piano store.

"I did?"

"Well, talking about a gig and your roommate's question gave me the idea. Let me mull this over for a while before I tell you. For now, let's see about these pianos."

The piano was not Sam's instrument of choice, although he could pick out tunes. They were percussion after all. He found one that seemed promising and played the first few lines of Fascination, just the keys – no chords – to see if it was in tune before the salesman walked over to join them.

"Are you the player?" he asked.

"No. Not me."

Francis sat on the bench, flexed his fingers, and played a few minutes of Franz List's Hungarian Rhapsody. He played it perfectly. Both the salesman and Sam stared at his fingers moving decisively and swiftly over the keyboard. When Francis was satisfied with the tone of the instrument, he stood up. "Let's see what else you have," he said.

"You're good," Sam and the salesman said in unison. "Do you play with an orchestra?" the salesman asked.

"Not recently," Francis replied. Sam felt rather than saw his wink. They tried a few more and settled for a baby grand in natural cherry wood. They did not haggle over the price. "This has a good sound," Francis said. "May I assume these are showroom models? You'll send a tuner when you bring it, won't you?"

"Of course, Sir. Where will it go and when would you like it delivered?"

He answered the question. "I'll give you half now. Shall we arrange delivery for second of November?" He looked to Sam who nodded. "My associate will give you a check for the remainder once it is in his apartment and he's satisfied with the sound. Is that satisfactory?"

"Actually, Sir, it's our policy to have full remittance before delivery."

"I see," Francis said and took back his check. "I know of another piano store. Shall we go, Sam? " They were on the way out when the salesman called them back. A ten thousand dollar sale did not come his way every day.

It was dark now and merchant stores were closing for the night. Streetlights obliterated all but the greater stars. The parking garages' day tenants were making room for dinner and art event crowds. SoHo was famous for both. "Where shall I take you for dinner, Sam?" Francis asked.

Sam shrugged. He didn't come into SoHo for dinner often. "This feels too much like a date. We're supposed to be friends and that's supposed to mean equals. I'd like to treat you to dinner, but you're not going to eat."

Francis touched Sam's arm with affection. "We are friends, first and foremost. You treated last time, at the apartment. It's my turn. I know where we can go if you don't have a preference. Do you like steak? Some of the staff at the embassy told me about the Mock Turtle in this neighborhood. They said the soups are good too."

Sam shook his head, half smiling, half annoyed. "There's no winning with you, is there?"

Francis gave him a reminiscent grin. "You used to beat me at chess quite regularly, Song Li. Of course, you were older then."

The name actually sounded familiar to Sam. How many more names and lives did Francis know him under? They were waiting for Sam's order when Francis returned to his earlier thought. "How talented are your roommates and what do they play?"

"Well, Randy plays the keyboard, Jeremy plays back-up guitar, but he's good. Jason plays clarinet and sax. We're all in our first year – third string, but we could be good if we had the chance to prove it. Why are you asking? You always have a reason. Tell me that idea you were mulling over."

"I forgot there are three more besides you living there. This might prove to be a good thing for them too if they can follow your lead. You don't want them jealous of your success and your move. When you said you didn't want to make enemies, you were talking about your current leader, but that must have included your roommates. Here is my idea. I want to hire you and them for a private party at the embassy, as the entertainment for my going-away party. We have a hall. I believe there will be about 40 people in attendance, but I'll let you know after I make the arrangements."

Sam looked down and bit his lip. "You're leaving already. We just found each other."

Francis could not speak for a moment. "You really do believe in me and what I told you," he said to explain his silence. "It was too easy to doubt. Some people might have taken me up on my offer of a new place to live and a bank account, but you wouldn't do that." He exhaled. "As for my leaving, look forward to my return. The time will go by fast and I'll see how far you've come in six months. In the meantime, we'll write and call. You have my email address. You do have a computer, don't you?"

"No."

"Another thing for you to buy. You're going to be busy. My idea is this. I'm hosting a high tea for staff and diplomats. If you can put on a show for us, I'll pay you for your time, both you and your group. There are a few extra people I'd like to hear you play. You have to pick and arrange your music. I'd like you to get your friends ready and rehearsed. If you're good enough – you can show someone in particular what you can do as bandleader and arranger. We have a set of drums, but bring your water drum so you can do some Mohawk melodies. I'm sure this person has heard you play before, but she never heard you where you had the chance to stand out. How does 4 o'clock the day after tomorrow sound?"

Sam's eyes opened wider. "Can you really get her to come?"

Francis touched his lapels with both thumbs. "Diplomat. Remember? Well, I think so. I'll work on it. Let me know about your roommates. If they have excuses, you and I will do a duet on keyboard and drums. We'll do our national anthem first – I'll teach it to you. Then some Gershwin would be appropriate since we're in New York City. Rhapsody in Blue is popular everywhere. We can practice it tomorrow and you can back me up on some of Romania's pop music. I want your drumming to be heard to its best advantage.

"I'll ask my roommates later, tell them who's going to be there, and call you in the morning. We know each other's sounds. Let me run this by them and see what they think. I still won't leave Johnny until our contract runs out. There's the matter of integrity."

"I value that," Francis said. "Your sense of justice is as strong as ever. You were a wonderful judge once - completely incorruptible. No one could bribe you. It irked a few people, but I found it admirable."

"Weren't you trying to bribe me when you first mentioned leaving him, back in the park when I thought you were a demon?" Sam lifted his chin.

Francis gave him a slow smile. "I was still trying to prove to myself that I really found you."

"But, you're sure now?" Sam asked.

"Oh yes." Francis didn't say the rest, but Sam could tell by his expression. The proof was in the blood.


	7. Chapter 7

Finding Sam – Chapter 7

Penina Keen Spinka

Alfred looked up as Francis strode into his club, Music of the Night. His full head of silver blond hair suited him like a crown. He hardly believed his eyes. It was three a.m. and Francis Radu was talking towards him. Alfred motioned him to take the adjacent chair. He began to stand in deference, but Francis motioned for him to keep his seat.

"I haven't seen you in a few hundred years," Alfred said. "What are you doing in the New World? How did you find my club?"

"It's nice to see you too, Alfred," Francis said. "I'm glad you survived. Are you still using the name Alfred?"

"I'm using it again after a long break and some traveling. I've always taken your advice, Radu." Alfred was tall, but he managed a half bow from his seat. "Welcome to my establishment. How did you find us?"

"Persistent and distrustful as always," Francis said. "You haven't changed in that although I must say you look good in modern clothing and without the beard. You looked good when we met in 880 too, imposing as a Viking." Alfred scowled. "I know – you spent your life fighting them and you won the majority of your battles. As for how I found you, I heard rumors of a Club near SoHo. I walked every block until I sniffed you out. The smell of fresh blood was my first clue. Then I smelled blood-drinkers. Chances are fresh blood wouldn't be flowing except at a crime scene, a hospital, or a blood-drinker club. Since I heard no screams or gunshots and a hospital in the lower basement of an old apartment building was unlikely, I took the elevator downstairs and here you were."

"So, you smelled us out," Alfred said. "I'm glad the police don't use bloodhounds to track us, but since they don't know we exist, that's not likely. Our community has enough of us in law enforcement and government to keep us under the radar. 'A Blood-drinker club?' You still don't like the word "vampire?"

"Do you?"

"It doesn't matter. You must be in New York for a reason. You never leave Europe."

Francis nodded. "I do have a reason. I'm going to ask a favor of you. You have some power in New York, don't you?"

"I'm the unofficial governor, as far as our kind goes. Whatever you require, you can ask it of me. There aren't many people I ever called Sire in my life, just my father and you. I began this club seventy-five years ago. It's a corporation now, but I still manage it. But, why are we talking business before pleasure when I haven't enjoyed your company in centuries? You're my guest here. Where are my manners?"

Francis looked at him sternly, but his eyes twinkled with humor. "Yes, Alfred, where are they? My throat is dry."

"May I offer you a liquid refreshment, on the house, of course?" That gained him a grin. "What is your preference? We have all types on tap - blood, color, disposition, and age. Name it and we will strive to accommodate you."

"Mature, if you have one on call. No preference in blood or body type – I enjoy variety. So long as she's healthy."

Alfred snapped his fingers and a waiter hurried to them. He gave a short bow. "Who or what may I bring you?" he asked automatically. His nose led him to take a better look at Francis and he blanched. "Bring Lilly for my friend here, would you?" Alfred said.

"Yes, Sir," the waiter snapped out and disappeared behind a curtain.

"Will you stay?" Francis asked. "I won't take long and we must finish our discussion."

"If you'd like." Lilly appeared in a few moments, a sturdy looking woman in her late thirties. Her hair was pinned up. "Sir?" she asked, looking between them. "Whom am I serving tonight?"

"My guest," Alfred answered. She turned to Francis who held out his hand for her.

"Take the chair if you would," Francis said. "I'll stand behind you. You are no doubt accustomed to us?" She nodded. He hadn't given his name and she did not dare ask for it. For the boss to remain and for him to hand her over so easily to his guest, she surmised she was in the presence of someone important. Francis passed his fingertips expertly over her arms and throat, noting prior entry points, all well healed. She would wear long sleeves and high collars outside the Club. She was no novice. He expected as much in this kind of establishment. Alfred would serve only the best. He picked his place and pierced her.

Lilly gasped, but after a moment, she felt the usual surge of pleasure. It came at the expense of a lassitude that left her unable to work again for a third of the month. She had learned how to take care of her health, what to eat and how best to replenish her blood. She drank no coffee or other diuretics. Working for Sir Alfred was worth it. She had college funds to build for her children, having been widowed a few years prior. She also knew how to keep her mouth shut. It was an unspoken but well-known truth that anyone who thought about expose the Club for what it was would not last long. She had children to protect and support. Speaking of the Club to the outside world was unthinkable.

It was difficult to keep her mind calm. The strange vampire's mouth on her throat was too intense, the pleasure difficult to override. She must be careful to not make any overture or personal statement beyond what was polite. The stranger pulled away to look her over, then leaned in once more to lick away what was left. No waste, Lilly thought. When he was done, she made an effort to stand and found she was able to do so on the first attempt. "Thank you, Lilly," said the stranger, still behind her. She did not get a good look at his face except when she entered the room. It was just as well.

"You're welcome, Sir," she replied. She walked quite steadily to the Freshie bar for a long drink of carrot/apple juice and a protein bar. She would rest for a while on one of the cots in the back before she drove home.

"You fed lightly," Alfred remarked when she was gone.

"I had a hearty breakfast," Francis admitted, wiping the corners of his mouth on a soft paper napkin set in a crystal holder on the table. He deposited it in a small wastebasket under the table and gave a satisfied smile. With fangs retracted, his teeth were small, even and white. "She was good though. I'm glad you keep a few older women who have gained a few pounds on your payroll. I never understood the fetish for the slender, supermodel type. They'd fall over at the first breeze of a gale. How are they supposed to feed us?"

Alfred shrugged. "My clients have different tastes. Therefore, so do the Freshies. Feeding aside, let me guess about your favor," Alfred said. "You found your brother again. Is he a man or a woman this time?"

"You know me well, Alfred," Francis said. "A man. I'm putting you in charge of his protection while I'm away. His name is Sam Birchtree and he lives in the Village. He and I are planning an entertainment for my farewell tea. It will be held at the Romanian Embassy the day after tomorrow. Sam is a drummer. You'll also recognize him by his Mohawk features - no scalp lock," he added in response to Alfred's raised eyebrow. "He wears his hair long and free. He doesn't know he's my twin brother. I don't want to tell him yet. He does know what I am. Are there any community leaders here?"

"Right now?" Francis gave him a quick nod. "Yes, a few. I'll have them come over."

There were three. From their scent, none was younger than 500 years, but none were older than Alfred. When they were assembled, Francis told them he was inviting them to an entertainment, where and when. "None of you should have trouble with daylight by now." They agreed. "I have a human friend called Sam Birchtree. He's not a Freshie and not yet a lover in most people's definition of the word. I want him safe and protected against any blood drinker in the City and the State. Anyone who harms him is answerable to Alfred. Anyone who defies Alfred and tries to take a taste of him is answerable to me. I want the word passed about. Not a fang, not a drop. Is that completely understood?"

"Who are you?" asked one, not quite defiantly but not humbly either. "You're not part of our community. Who are you to give orders to us?" The others looked at the speaker uncertainly. Before Alfred could reply, Francis was around the table and had the questioner in a headlock. The younger vampire tried, but he could not escape Francis' grip. He was 900 years old. When he stopped struggling, Francis let him go. "I meant no disrespect, Elder," he said, finding it difficult to speak. Francis returned to his chair.

Alfred said, "Francis Radu is a special envoy to the United Nations from Romania's President. He was born there more than 4000 years ago." It was well known that ancient Romania was the birthplace of their kind. "He is my Sire. I suggest you follow his orders. Spread the word. If you even think of touching Sam Birchtree, at best you won't live in New York again. At worst, you won't be living anywhere. We have ways to assure ourselves of your compliance."

Francis nodded pleasantly to the three. "The blood-drinker mafia? Perhaps that may work in my favor." It seemed the past moment had been set aside, if not forgotten. "As Alfred told you, my current name is Francis Radu. As for why you have not heard it before, it is because I chose to live my life among humans. Life is simpler that way and I prefer it. I seldom involve myself in blood drinker affairs or politics. Be glad that I don't." There were nods around the room. No vampire was likely to be older or stronger and now they knew it.

"The reason I'm making an exception and presenting myself to you now is to invite you to a party. I want you to meet my friend Sam. After greeting him the day after tomorrow at the embassy at 4 'clock, you will keep away from him. I expect you to memorize his face and his scent. Spread the word to your underlings to keep their distance from him as well." He gazed at each of them in turn until each man lowered his head in acquiescence.

"Is there anything else?" Alfred asked after no one had spoken for several moments.

"No. They may go." The others got up and left. They had had been formally dismissed. Before departing, each gave Francis a small, respectful bow to which he lowered his chin slightly. If vampires had kings, Francis would have been theirs. If they went back far enough, all members of the blood-drinking nation were probably his descendents.

"We're lucky you don't want to mix into vampire politics," Alfred said. "It can get unpleasant."

"I prefer my life to run smoothly," Francis replied. "There were so few of us in the old days. We made some good memories together after I brought you over. That was an exciting century. We're lucky we survived it." Francis spread his fingers as if counting them off mentally. "You have my thanks for this favor. Thank you as well for Lilly. Please establish a tab at the Club for me. Take my card." He handed it over. "Send my future bills to the embassy and it will be taken care of. I won't always have cash on my person. When I visit New York, as I will every six months for the foreseeable future, I don't want to rely too heavily on my brother. He's accepted me, but I'm sure you understand my necessity of going elsewhere for nourishment. I'll see you at the Embassy with your associates on Tuesday. Will there be only the four of you?"

"There may be another two, one of them a woman. She'll have to fly in from Albany upstate and he lives in the Hamptons, at the eastern half of Long Island. We have members of the Tribe all over the state. They will want to see you with their own eyes. I look forward to saying hello to your brother."

"He'll suppose you are from the embassy. Not a word about whom you really are."

"Not a word."

"Great, Alfred. I know I can count on you." Francis embraced his Childe before he left the Club.

* * *

There was Romanian wine from the best vintners of the country and pleasant conversation. Small sandwiches and petit fours decorated layered gold trays. Francis had been able to make sure there would be no silver where his blood-drinking associates would come into contact with it, even if they were unlikely to sample the food. The cake was decorated in Romania's colors – blue, yellow and red – white lettering spelling out _Goodbye, Francis_. After the speeches, Francis took the first piece of cake in front of his countrymen. He swallowed several pieces after chewing them thoroughly. Sam noticed that he excused himself shortly afterwards.

Although Francis kept his thoughts in Romanian, Sam could guess that the cake would not stay in his friend's stomach for long. He might not be able to pick up words, but Francis's feelings were clear. He was back in time for the toast to his good health and return. He was able to keep the wine down.

People took their seats for the entertainment. Francis played the National Anthem followed by the Star Spangled Banner. Everyone stood respectfully for both. Then he introduced the band. "This is my dear friend, Sam Birchtree and his band members Randy, Jason and Jeremy. "What do you call your band, Sam?"

Sam smiled widely when he turned to face Lorraine Gordon, the embassy's special guest and owner of the Vanguard. "We aren't official yet, but for this, our first engagement, I'm calling us The Mohawk Beat." He turned to his friends. "Are you ready?" When they responded, he sat down behind his drums, his water drum on a special mat at his feet. They had prepared to play the best of what Sam had composed, expanded to give each member the opportunity to shine.

The applause was sustained after one of the songs, giving Jeremy a chance to whisper to Sam. "When you said your friend needed you for a special gig, you weren't kidding." He, Jason and Randy had been elated at the prospect of entertaining Francis's associates at the embassy. The money wasn't bad, but to be able to showcase their talent to this extent in front of Lorraine Gordon - that was the chance of a lifetime.

No one remarked at Francis's extra friends who played close attention to the band's drummer and leader. Sam brought their performance to an end with a song of friendship and farewell to Francis. When it was nearly over, he brought up his special drum and tapped out a Mohawk rhythm of luck and love with his drumsticks.

Francis wiped tears from his eyes, looking at Sam with a longing only one other in the room would understand. From his section, sitting with his associates, Alfred smiled and nodded at their exchange. He understood what had passed between Francis and Sam. Sam didn't know precisely what Francis was to him yet, but the young man had certainly made his brother, and Alfred's sire, very happy.


End file.
